I Am Going to SCREAM!

Parents know this one. The kid decides to put on a no-holds barred, epic, knock-down drag out tantrum. It’s on, baby, it’s on. So, they do. And some parents don’t do well with this so it spins up and nobody wins. The fortunate kids have parents who are non-plussed and wait out the kid.

cross040708_03Some of the opposition has decided to cope with the loss by conducting a massive temper-tantrum. They believe they can be * a n g e r y * enough * l o n g * enough that we will fall into line, impeach Trump and finally coronate Billary like we were supposed to. Among the problems, Billary conceded the race to Dumpf.

But, I don’t write for the fat part of the bell curve that will go along and come along. My crowd is the thousands that took to the streets last night to protest Trump’s victory. Let’s get to the punch-line straight away. What y’all are advocating for is a Socialist Dictatorship led by a corrupt political machine populated with Southern Democratic criminals and Chicago machine political hacks. If Billary had won we would elect a woman for president that has a monstrous organized crime family behind her. The visible nipple is the Clinton Foundation. The whole tit nurses corruption that pervades the entire government and has milk ducts controlled by radical Muslims.

For a century Democratic populism has promised to nurse us, coddle us, protect us from aggression, micro and otherwise, basically, helicopter parent us. Obama was the ultimate pimp daddy who would get us free houses, free Cadillac’s and free cell phones. He said that he would make healthcare affordable. His means? Drastically expand an already monstrously large government that would intrude into our lives even more.

The Democrats showed their true nature last night as they took to the streets to protest the victory of Donald J. Trump. They revealed that they don’t want a democracy. They don’t want self-reliance and a government that supports individual freedom. No, they wanted Billary as a stepping stone toward coronating Hugo Chavez.

My tantrum lasted into my twenties when I met my paternal grandmother. I thought I was smart. I thought I knew how to game the grownups to get what I want. I was going to be famous and people would dote on me. My luvable fuzzball gramma would be standing at the threshold of her house with a piece of blueberry pie as 12 virgins carried me up her steps in a sedan chair. It was going to be great. I was great. So . . . uhm . . . yeah. That didn’t happen.

My great-aunt met me at the bus station and drove me to gramma’s house. There were some quick hugs & kisses, a few pleasantries, then I went to bed. In the morning she wasn’t there. She left a note in her manual typewriter saying she had gone to the radio station to do her show.  She had also left a bus schedule for the 43 bus line (18 line these days). I was to get my own breakfast and make my way to Pacifica Radio’s KPFA at Allston and Shattuck above Edy’s Ice Cream. Well I never . . . My Mom would never treat me this way.

I got there a bit before she had finished reading and talking about the Congressional Record. I waited, and once we were on the bus home began to whine about her hospitality, “You don’t have to live with me. You can leave my house when we get home.” Whoa. Just . . . wait. Hold on, just hold on. Worse, “apologize for being rude. Your father told me about you.” OMG. The insolance. Doesn’t she know who I am? Doesn’t she understand she’s looking at a future star? I turned from her and sulked for a few minutes then let out a weak, “I’m sorry, grandmother.” btw, “gramma”, never “grandmother”.

This election was a huge middle finger to the socialist establishment that had gotten too fat, too comfortable and happy that they could continue defrauding us and “electing” their candidates to office while getting rich off of their lies. The protesters last night demanding Billary as queen are pushing to enact the very tyranny they claim to hate.

But, it would be their rules, so that makes it ok. The oppressed would be those evil white people like me. Serves us right because we’ve had it good for two hundred years so a little genocide and theft is what is needed to put things right.

The revolutionary thing is happening right now. We had an election and the majority lost. In most places in the world this means years of bloody civil war over who will control the empire. Democracy is a rare and fragile thing that most often fails. What succeeds is benevolent, genocidal kings. Be good to those loyal to you and brutal to the opposition. This, that we are doing now, a peaceful transition of power, is the revolution.

My son’s tantrum visiting me lasted two weekend visits. He tried to be brattier than his bratty father. I emptied his room save for a thin foam mat. I cooked food I knew he would not eat. I archived his account on my computer so all his saved games were gone (he thought). My rule, that I can cause duress but not actual harm still applies. He learned he couldn’t win with me by throwing tantrums.

I also spent his childhood talking to him about giving grace first, about serving first, about how I am christian because without Jesus I’d be in a padded room heavily medicated. Next, I made sure he understood that he was loved by me, forever and amen. It was a big deal to me that blood can’t be severed by marital status. I would always be his father whether I was with his Mom or not. His Mom, though she is divorced from me and my family, still is one of us because she is my son’s mother. That too, is an unbreakable blood bond.

Thousands of protesters signaled their virtue last night. Yesterday and today there are millions in this country who need help. They are addicts, crazies, criminals and more. In dozens of cities across this land are the government owned apartment complexes representing the left’s Utopian vision of a docile proletariat happy to have subsidized housing and food stamps. There is work to do and all it takes is showing up at your local NGO to volunteer.

But, tantrums feel good. Tantrums signal that you CARE! DAMMIT! We don’t need your signalling. We need your bodies working in our communities to help those who need it transform their lives and become self-sufficient. Use that intertube thing, that oogle pipes whatever. They have listings. Then, actually show up. It’s not enough to like their MySpace page and post some meemz or go all meta and ritwyyt their call for volunteers.

My grandmother, as she watched the marches and violence of the Civil Rights movement from her living room in Albany, CA, came up with a plan. She was going to Mississippi to help. She found a small town there with some local artisans who had been selling their work in the streets. She met them, helped them form an artist’s cooperative, and through that co-op, changed some lives. It wasn’t loud, the signal was weak, it is forgotten by most, yet, she did more with her art co-op than will ever be accomplished by a mob throwing rocks at the cops.

Two-thousand years ago a no-account carpenter born a bastard began to teach. This dissident rabbi said he was kin to David, the son of God. His church leadership was so disturbed by his claims, his teachings and the miracles happening around him that they forced the Romans to crucify him. His little band of dissidents has grown to be a world-wide movement that thrives today. Through history these rebels have brought down governments and healed millions. They meet every Sunday and do a huge amount of work to serve the children, widows and the sick. You could be part of it. One last thing. If you join us your life will be destroyed and made new. Just letting you know.



Educating Alan–Absurdism

You don’t matter. The universe, the world is a thing, unthinking, uncaring, available for ill will as well as beauty. The trees don’t care how you feel. The wind blows where it will. Whether you are addicted or some span of time clean and sober–the songbirds don’t care. They have their own problems to worry about.

St-Benedict-Dashboard-Crucifix2. it means nothing. There is no meaning to life. 42 is just a number. Your life doesn’t mean anything. Get used to this. That bunch of paint splotches on a canvas lovingly framed and hung in the modern art gallery of VMFA is . . . a bunch of paint splotches on a canvas. There is no homage to early Cheval. It does not quote Camus in its use of color. Stop saying that it is resonant with Chet Baker’s vocal pieces. The artist got lucky in convincing the VMFA to accept it as a piece worth recognition. Nothing means anything. It is all meaningless. So, enough with the “I taste hints of fair trade peppercorns and artisanal cork.” Need a source? Go read Ecclesiastes again.

Most of us will die unremarkable. After our funeral we become story. Even that story fades over time as those who knew us carry on. Some years hence our epitaph becomes a quant few words written in stone now eroded and illegible from the moss making its home on our grave. Seasons pass, the stone falls, slowly losing the fight with the grasses and wild-flowers to itself be buried. Our immortal story mortal and hence forgotten.

How much do you remember of Thomas R. Marshall? Who is Champ Clark? What were the dominant headlines when these men served our country? Can’t remember? Neither can I. I had to look them up. Even these men, who were notable in their day, are whispers in the minds of our grandparents. They mattered to some in their day. Now? Not so much. The same top-10 evils they got elected to fix still stumble about the halls of government only now these evils are ever more drunk on our tax dollars. “Plus les choses changent, plus elles restent les mêmes.

This is what Wikipedia says about absurdism: “In philosophy, “the Absurd” refers to the conflict between (1) the human tendency to seek inherent value and meaning in life and (2) the human inability to find any. In this context absurd does not mean “logically impossible”, but rather “humanly impossible”.[1] The universe and the human mind do not each separately cause the Absurd, but rather, the Absurd arises by the contradictory nature of the two existing simultaneous.”

So, what’s the point? Why not just shovel out a six foot hole, eat the earthworms uncovered in the digging, and resume room temperature. If life has no meaning why bother living? Roses. Roses are a reason to live. And chicken soup. The kind of chicken soup you get from making it yourself. Oh, and chocolate.

A man alone is insignificant. We are not alone. God observed Adam living alone and quickly decided he needed a helpmate. We are made better in the natural tensions in relationships. We  matter as one element of a larger whole called community.

We seek value and meaning and fail. The wind still blows where it will. Brer rabbit still becomes dinner for the fox. Wisdom begins in death to that which keeps us from God. We must die to this world to gain life in the resurrection kingdom. Our God, our Christ, is absurd. This popular saying, “god is love”, is nuts. God is love? Ok. Meaning? Does God even exist? Can you prove he exists? If God is love and he does not exist, does love exist? Who even cares?

Ok, enough of that. I got tired of therapy because it started to feel like I was one of those stuffed animals on display in the dioramas you find in Cabela’s. I was a side-show exhibit performing for the benefit of the therapist. I can’t sustain a down-in-the mouth, nihilist rant for long before my urge to start preaching about Jesus being our hope and savior becomes overwhelming. No, you are safe. I’ll check the impulse. Click here if you want that.

I’ve always rested on hope. I have faith in hope. That’s what gets me up in the morning, keeps me going in times like these when my only income is a stipend paid to me by the Virginia Employment Commission. I lean on Christ because it is He that has taught me a way which remains the one thing I can do and stay out of jail.

Everything about being Christian is absurd. I like this quote from the web site Rogue Theologians, “In both cases, the Absurd can be understood as a determined desire to move forward in the face of futility. This, I think, is the core notion of the Absurd. It is defiance of futility and defiance of despair (even while despairing)”. The whole essay is worth a read. More from the same essay: “For Kierkegaard, the Absurd is taking the Truth as it is even when reason, logic, rationality, and all such human things resist Truth. For Kierkegaard, faith is an absurdity that makes a human being capable of being authentically him or herself before God.”

Sorry, I couldn’t resist: this is meaningful to me: that God is love and love is a verb, thus God is also a verb. God isn’t a meaningless thing found in the depths of hell. Heaven is life, God is life, so heaven and god are thrumming, thriving, doing and living the love that is their core identity. I seek to emulate Jesus to the best of my ability. This means my task is to emulate, to embody love as a verb, Jesus as a verb. It doesn’t matter whether my labor means anything. My obligation to embody love as a verb doesn’t change because I’ll die forgotten soon enough. My work is to do what He called me to do and let Him worry about the rest. Absurd? Probably. I’m still on it.